


When You Wish Upon a (Fell) Star

by MidknightMasquerade



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Byleth - With a Backstory!, Disney College Program AU, Disney World & Disneyland, Eventual Relationships, F/F, F/M, Female My Unit | Byleth, Gen, M/M, Multi, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, The "three houses" are apartment complexes, fodlan equals florida?, yes they are literal houses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-01-26 08:01:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21370828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidknightMasquerade/pseuds/MidknightMasquerade
Summary: When an underhanded hacking corporation swipes the personal information of Walt Disney World's newest interns, once-famed security consult Jeralt Eisner is recalled to his old haunt in a last ditch effort to save those whose identities have been compromised. Now Byleth Eisner, the newly-appointed Disney College Program Coordinator, must simultaneously mentor the students oblivious to this breach and uncover the villains scheming to manipulate them.But to her students, this mentorship program seems to be nothing more than a competition - one meant to determine which of the Disney heirs deserve to inherit the company: the Black Eagles of Patterson Court, the Blue Lions of Chatham Square, or the Golden Deer of Vista Way?One year to claim the victory. One year to conquer the villains. One year in the happiest place with the bleakest secrets.
Relationships: Anna/Linhardt von Hevring, Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Dedue Molinaro, Caspar von Bergliez/Hilda Valentine Goneril, Catherine/Shamir Nevrand, Cyril/Lysithea von Ordelia, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Marianne von Edmund, Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Edelgard von Hresvelg/Jeritza von Hrym, Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra, Flayn/Ignatz Victor, Jeralt Reus Eisner/Manuela Casagranda, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Leonie Pinelli, My Unit | Byleth/Seteth, Petra Macneary/Claude von Riegan, Raphael Kirsten/Bernadetta von Varley, Sylvain Jose Gautier/Mercedes von Martritz
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	1. Home is Where the Start is

**Author's Note:**

> How do you deal with Post-Disney Depression? You write a fanfiction featuring your favorite characters in the happiest place on earth!
> 
> Full confession: I have not undergone the Disney College Program myself! I've merely researched it...heavily. But does anyone care about the specifics when you can instead imagine your pre-wartime kiddos putting on costumes and eating mouse-shaped sundaes? I didn't think so. That said, I have gone on backstage tours, so please be aware of spoilers concerning behind-the-scenes magic!
> 
> Before we get started, please note that this story adheres to the rules of our universe. Thus, supernatural shenanigans will be relegated to little more than Disney magic (with the occasional crossing of the line). Thus, some character's backstories (and existences) have been altered considerably. I've done my best to honor the source material, whilst still putting my own twist to it. Byleth, in particular, has a slew of backstory to uncover and an actual personality for you to enjoy! Have fun figuring her out.
> 
> One final forewarning: the prologue serves primarily to setup the plot moving forward instead of enthralling us in the wonderful world of Disney. Fear not! The coming chapters will remedy this tenfold, with entertainment aplenty once we move post the initial angst and mystery. Just buckle up and enjoy the beginning before the madness!

Home had long been a luxury that evaded Byleth’s yearning grasp, but ignorance could not prevent her presumption that this temporary residence would never welcome her - nor she it.

Byleth knew better than to assume otherwise, better than to wish for what life had never handed her. She might be headed to the happiest place on earth, but castles housed queens, nobles, belles of the ball made beautiful by a fairy godmother - and Byleth had learnt her lesson from expecting the supernatural to solve her problems. Her clients could live in fairytales all they liked. Meanwhile, their white knight would bloody her blade on the battlefield, keeping their kingdom from crumbling down around them.

After all, that’s what half the world had hired the Eisners to do: give their own lives to preserve another’s.

_Goddess willing, he never will_, the voice that stirred somewhere uncertain with her whispered. It seemed to Byleth an unwelcome articulation, a fear manifest she never knew nor wanted to acknowledge. But, were it truly her own cognition given voice, why would her conscience sound so unlike her?

She shoved the thought aside - another uninvited fright - and turned to her father. In the midst of their most recent move, his presence served as the sole constant in her life, a security blanket to cling to when the bed, and the building beneath it, were all ripped away. If she had no other, Jeralt alone was home to her.

Southern sunlight lavished his face, unbidden by the dirtied windshield. Even still, phantom terrors darkened his countenance, clawing at the bags beneath his eyes until they melded into his cheeks. Whatever awaited them in this corner of the world, it was not the wonder others experienced.

“You’re giving me that look again.” His gaze escaped from the road ahead for but a moment, softening as they fell upon his daughter. “Why the gloom? Most kids would kill for a trip to the tropics.”

“Only because they’re not going there to work,” she corrected. “You make it sound as if we’re off to vacation.”

Jeralt shrugged. “It might as well be, for one of us, anyways. You’re not the one they called to come work out here. You ought to kick back and relax while you can, let your old man handle this.”

“If I didn’t know better,” Byleth said, “I’d think you didn’t want me working out here with you.”

He scoffed. “Kid, I’d have you do every job yourself if I could. Goddess knows you’ve got more game than half our company combined.” His fingers drummed against the rim of the steering wheel, an anxious, syncopated cadence. “This is something I have to do alone...for both our sakes.”

For a man with enough notoriety to make Oprah pale in comparison, Jeralt Reus Eisner remained the most stubborn, uncompromising troublemaker she had ever met - and each problem they faced had been made, measured, and demolished by his hands alone.

_Humans are such perplexing creatures_, the voice inside whined. _Surely, he has the money - not to mention the personnel - to man this operation ten times over! Why waste time on this? Has he no sense!?_

As usual, Byleth had no answer for her innermost inquiries.

The Eisners’ influence had stretched across every corner of the first world, their hand in the pockets of peasants and politicians alike who called upon their technological expertise. Progress in the mechanical world continued on at its breakneck pace. While its makers raked in the money, its users relied on the support of their superiors when their technology inevitably fell prey to overuse, inadequacy or, worse, hacking. That’s where the Eisners came in.

Despite humble beginnings, the Eisners now stood at the top of the totem pole in security architecture. Jeralt’s expertise in technology surpassed someone of his age - a mystery many, Byleth included, had attempted to unravel over the years with as little success as their predecessors. As it turns out, a traditional perspective on progressive technology proved vital in engineering solutions, both in computers and in people.

But Jeralt had never been one for fame. The founder of Mercenary Technological Industries - or “Merc Tech”, as its employees abbreviated it, be it for affection or efficiency’s sake - remained anonymous. A security measure, he’d assured them, but Byleth knew all the better: Jeralt prioritized his privacy. More than that, he prioritized his child’s.

Or so she had assumed, before the frantic plight of an old friend prompted Jeralt’s return to the one place in all the planet he had neglected - no, _refused_ \- to go: Orlando, Florida.

Confidentiality had long been a tenet of Jeralt’s life, but never secrecy. Yet their unexpected departure from the company headquarters in Remire-Montjoly came without explanation. Now, Byleth wondered what motivated his anonymity. He hoped to protect her, that much seemed certain. But from what? Or from whom?

“Well,” Jeralt said at last, drawing Byleth from her inward wanderings, “we’re here. Mostly. What do you think?”

Outside their rundown rental car, the palm trees bowed in silent reverence. Each leaf waved to them, welcoming. The heat, combated poorly by their half-functional air conditioning, ebbed away at her worries until she dwelt more on the sweat from her pores than the fears in her mind. The beaches, at least, reminded her of summers spent with her Aunt Ismaire, of fireside stories with Tethys and Gerik, of betting who could their breath underwater longer with Joshua. That had felt like home, once. But not now. Not here.

“I think I’ll need thinner clothing,” she retorted. “The sun might bleed me dry.”

Jeralt snorted. “Those tights aren’t thin enough?”

Byleth knew her taste in clothing had befuddled her father since Oboro - a former client and present family friend - had introduced her to the fashion industry when she was still a teenager. But befriending a seamstress at such an impressionable age came with an unprecedented taste for stylistic experimentation. The tights became one more thing Jeralt blamed Oboro for.

_Japan didn’t feel like home to you_, the voice inside reminded her, _but Oboro did_.

Byleth pushed away the probing assertion. “It’s better than a bikini,” she responded, as deadpanned as possible. Over the years, she had discovered that delivering such statements with as little emotion as possible made the payoff all the better. Judging by Jeralt’s obvious distaste at the thought - or rather, at the thought of swatting away eyes prying at his daughter’s body - she had succeeded.

“Not by much,” he muttered, “and certainly not enough.”

The buzz of a phone salvaged her father from further discomfort. A notification for an incoming message from a name unknown to her - _Alois?_ \- flittered across the dashboard. With it came her father’s grimace. “Not even home yet, and work already won’t leave me alone.” He sighed. “Some things never change.”

“Alois?” Her question came with no immediate response. Her father chewed on the decision to speak or stay silent, so she pressed him - a dangerous, but necessary, game. “You haven’t mentioned him before. Is he who called you here?”

“An old pest is more like it,” Jeralt replied. 

Byleth would have believed him, but the hints of nostalgic appreciation pried the tip of his lips into a reluctant grin. One can become attached even to pests, the same one might become accustomed to the company of a dog that never stopped barking or a customer with a complex order or a leech that had latched on too long until you became numb to its existence altogether. Byleth wondered which Alois was.

“I knew nothing good would come of my name getting leaked to that reporter after our last job with KOSTAS. We bust one cyberbully and suddenly everyone thinks we’re a charity.” His nostrils flared for a moment, like a war horse ready to charge. “Trying to evade him forever...well, it was inevitable he’d find us eventually, with how stubborn he is.”

“Some would call that persistent.”

“He would,” Jeralt agreed. “I’d call it annoying.”

“I can’t imagine he could be any worse than our regular clientele,” Byleth said. Their services had been distributed to both entitled billionaires and incompetent grandmothers alike - a byproduct of Jeralt’s understated compassion. “No man could hold a candle to Maribelle Themis.”

She had assumed the thought of their ill-tempered, well-funded client from the Bible Belt might lighten the worry that had wound itself around the fingers tightening at the wheel, the lips spread two inches too thin, the jaw clenched in concentration or rage or some other untraceable emotion. Instead, the mention only clouded brown eyes in a haze of gray grief. “It’s not Alois I’m worried about.”

Byleth would have pressed, pried, needled away at those defenses until they fell had a landmark outside arose to steal her interest. An archway stood triumphant at the edge of her vision like some remnant of an ancient kingdom flanked by its eternal protectors. Whereas such a structure might once have had knights, this gateway instead stood guarded by a set of cartoon mice. The words “Walt Disney World: Where Dreams Come True” greeted them.

“Looks like we made it.”

Byleth knew not what to make of this revelation, so instead she turned her inquiry towards her father. “Do tell me you’re joking.” She searched his face for any sign of mirth, but found her investigation fruitless. “This isn’t when you surprise me and shout ‘happy birthday’, is it?”

Jeralt sighed. “Wish that it were, By. But your birthday’s not for months still, and your work - my work - starts now. Here.” He raised his chin to the broad expanse of painted buses, of gator-ridden lakes, of tourists adorned with outlandish merchandise and the smiles to accompany them. A smile she now lacked. “Best put on a pair of ears and make the most of it. Sounds like we’ll both be stuck here a while…”

Byleth absorbed the odd assortment of clothes and characters with a mix of shock and curiosity. If nothing else, her time here proved to be full of surprises. “What a strange place,” she mused, eyes wandering to the children assaulting two employees, one dressed as a dog and the other...well, she supposed both were dogs, only one was a naked quadruped and the other a fully-functioning, questionably-fashionable biped. Byleth wanted an explanation, but the children, it seemed, only wanted an autograph.

“Believe it or not, kiddo, this is home,” he claimed through gritted teeth. “Or it was, at least.” The words would have put her at ease, had she not known better than to notice the tension in his shoulders, through his spine, on his tongue. This place, for reasons still undetermined, promised them no refuge. An ironic thought, no doubt - no security for those who secured the world itself.

Byleth leaned her head against the car window, staring up at cloudless skies above. Once upon a simpler time, a younger Byleth had tiptoed to the bedroom windowsill to wish upon a falling star: for a mother, or a fairy godmother, or whatever would make her feel at home. But the years awaiting an answer to his wish had embittered Byleth to such juvenile delights, until her poisoned hope withered into a numb, unyielding apathy.

This was not home, and she would not wish for it to be.  
Not again.

* * *

Byleth had expected “home” to consist of brick walls and burnt food, of open windows and unhung laundry. Byleth had become accustomed to the chaotic, be it the quirks of a crumbling apartment or the sparse nights spent in a high-end hotel. If Jeralt intended them to settle her for longer than she might like, then she at least hoped to get their house in working order sooner rather than later. After all, her father would be no help with that.

Jeralt, however, had subverted all assumptions as soon as he skimmed over that aforementioned text, parking not in the lot of an apartment complex but in the lot of Walt Disney World’s most populated park: the Magic Kingdom. Whatever Alois had written in that text, it had either excited or frightened her father. She didn’t know which she would prefer.

“Our client needs to meet with me. Immediately, or else I would’ve dropped you back at the house” he explained, unprompted, as the car skidded to a stop beside the bumper sticker-clad van of a soccer mom in rose gold sweatpants. “That’s if Alois isn’t making this out to be more than it is, of course. You never can tell with him.”

The car engine stuttered into silence as Jeralt withdrew the key. The apology etched into every pore of his face spoke greater volumes than any word that followed. “Listen, By. There’s no need for you to get mixed up into all of this. Take the car out for a joyride or wait in here for all I care, so long as you lay low until I can get this worked out. Hear me?”

Byleth nodded. “Loud and clear.” Before her father could react accordingly, she unbuckled her seatbelt and swung herself out of the car. 

The subsequent slam of the door behind her heralded Jeralt’s ire. “You might have heard me, but it sure looks like you didn’t understand me.” Jeralt narrowed his eyes, folded his arms across his chest. He looked to her a statue - an immovable force, or what had once been as such, before life had eroded its strength.

“I heard you. I understood you,” she corrected, copying his stance. “But I know it’s better not to listen this time.” Before he could intervene with his usual brand of skepticism, Byleth edged in with the first word. “You know better than to doubt me.”

That caused Jeralt’s resolve to shrink, if only slightly. “You know I trust you, By. But I don’t trust our client. Not yet, anyways. It isn’t safe for you to be parading around like a float until I find out what they want with us.”

“That would make sense,” Byleth agreed, “had you not taught me better. First rule of security: know that you’re never safe. Second rule of security: understand the circumstances that endanger you. How am I supposed to protect this place - and you - if I’ve never even been there?”

“I could care less if the castle burns to the ground, if it meant you’d be safe.” Jeralt’s confession left the vein in his temple throbbing, his vitriol triggering what Byleth knew would be a long-standing headache. She knew many more lay in wait for them before this day concluded. “But I know better than to leave you here alone. Goddess knows you’d only take the next ferry without me.” He heaved a defeated breath. “Fine. Come if you want, but you have to promise you’ll keep a low profile. Once we get to the park, you can...I don’t know, go shopping for better pants or something, so long as you don’t come with me to meet our client.”

Byleth saluted, resuming her stoic expression. “Sir, yes sir.” 

Byleth put up no further argument, content in her uncontested victory. Victor and victim walked in tandem towards the nearby ferry, whose captain ushered them aboard with haste. Hyperactive children and exhausted parents crowded every inch of the ship. The only seats left available to them positioned them across from the most aesthetically-polarizing couple she had ever seen: one, a ray of sleeveless sunshine; and the other, a shadow melded against the waves beyond the bow.

Byleth observed both women with insatiable curiosity. The first woman lounged about the ship with a disarming nonchalance, feet propped up atop one another and one arm looped lazily around her companion’s shoulders. A blue tank top, unseemly tears where sleeves had once been, draped carelessly against a muscular frame. Someone - a wannabe Etsy hotshot, no doubt - had sloppily printed a phrase onto the shirt, under a cartoon barbell: “And she lifted happily ever after”. Her sunglasses, the only other object of note, hid eyes that had scanned every passenger on the ship.

In stark contrast to her casual companion, the latter woman sat rigid against the railing. One leg had swung over the other, both hands folded neatly atop her crossed knees. Her violet tee, the words “foolish mortals” drawn on in ghastly black ink, complemented her hair. A matching pair of ears, complete with a batwing bow, crowned her head, but the single, crested brow dared anyone to mock her.

It was then, lost in thought as to the nature of these two women, that Byleth realized: her observations had not gone unreturned. Before Byleth could voice her suspicions to Jeralt, the shadow spoke.

“Good, you brought her.”

Shock colored Jeralt’s face, the red of rage flushing away to a mortified sallow. “Now I get it. You two are with Alois, aren’t you?”

“With Rhea, actually,” the blonde clarified.

_Rhea?_ The voice inside, silent for so long now, perked up. Although it made no further inquiry, Byleth could feel it searching inside of her for information she did not have. Then, the sensation stopped. It was listening, needy.

Little miss sunshine continued, undeterred. “By the sound of it, so are you two.” She extended her free hand outwards towards Jeralt first. “Catherine Charon, Chief of Parkwide Security.”

Jeralt shook the offered hand with a skeletal stiffness. “Guess you already know we are then,” he said, displeasure all too evident. Insinuation had never been Jeralt’s strength. “Jeralt Eisner, head of Merc Tech Industries and apparent sucker for Alois’ whining.”

Catherine barked, an unflattering laugh. “That makes one of us.” She leaned forward, the arm that had hailed Jeralt (but not, to her confusion, Byleth) now propped atop her kneecap. Her grin, an arrogant goad to a game Jeralt had no desire to play, slid further across her face. “Heard you’re the answer to our problems. Guess we’ll see about that.”

_Was that a challenge, I wonder_, the voice inside piped up, its irritation evident, _or a threat?_

“You and me both,” Jeralt agreed. If Jeralt felt as intimidation as Catherine wished he did, he showed no sign of it. In fact, cracking a joke served to break the tension between them.

Catherine reclined, at ease in the presence of one she had not deemed a rival, nudging the woman at her side with an invasive elbow. “This barrel of laughs is my partner, Shamir.”

The woman spoke naught. Only nodded.

“Oh, come on, Shamir! You could at least introduce yourself.”

“I thought you had talked enough for the both of us.” The shadow - Shamir - did not extend the same physical courtesies as her partner, but she did incline her head in recognition. It was more than Byleth had expected, at least. “Shamir Nevrand. Don’t listen to this one: I’m Rhea’s eyes and ears in the parks, not hers.”

“Harsh,” Catherine whispered. Her apparent disappointment disappeared as she returned to them, and to the matter at hand. “Rhea ordered that we collect you both as soon as you arrive. Given the circumstances, we wouldn’t want anyone inconveniencing you before you even reached the gates.”

_You’re the inconvenience_, the inner voice insisted. It seemed all the more agitated that Catherine did not hear, respond to, or care about her gripes. Byleth did not argue with the truth, but she knew better than to voice the obvious. Catherine knew, wanted her to know that. And perhaps this Rhea did too.

True to her word, Catherine navigated them away from the gates as soon as they had reached the dock. The path that would have put them at the foot of the castle neglected, Catherine opted to instead pass behind locked doors and through backstage lots. Each new area brimmed with activity: employees in old-fashioned costumes bustling about with laundered towels, electricians toppling parade floats for repairs, girls in garish dresses shoving subs down their throats before they resumed a more elegant demeanor in front of an audience.

Catherine did not allow for the luxury of acquainting themselves with these local oddities, instead leading them to a nondescript door at the furthest point of the lot. “You ready?” Byleth knew not for what, but Catherine swung the door wide regardless. “Nothing you see down here can find its way outside these walls. That means no photos, no souvenirs - nothing. Best keep your phones off, or Seteth will have your head.”

As Catherine led the charge inside, Shamir waited behind them. “Don’t bother trying to memorize the path - we’ll get you a map.”

Byleth tried, despite the warning. Her efforts, however, proved futile after all. The twisting corridors, while well-illuminated, became so numerous - more so even than the employees that littered the halls, looking to steal a glance at the newcomers - that Byleth lost track of time and directions alike as she failed to keep up with Catherine. A purposeful design, no doubt.

Even still, the halls held a certain aesthetic appeal. Framed posters of famous movies, signed no doubt by the original cast and crew, filled every wall. Paintings of characters pointed them towards their destination with an unfading enthusiasm. Trophies sat proudly atop shelves, medals dangling in a taunting display of achievement from hooks.

More comforting than the accomplishments, however, were the people. Even the most caffeine-addled employee seemed pleased with their workplace, and with one another. More than Byleth had expected greeted them as they walked through, Catherine waving at each, making jokes that saturated the air with giggling janitors and snickering princesses. Even Shamir smiled with unprecedented warmth as a boy scrubbing the floor stopped to greet her.

Byleth wondered whether these people considered this place safe, if they considered it a home.

But the voice inside her insisted on interrupting her appreciation of their newfound environment. _Rhea_, she repeated. The voice echoed that name over and over the nearer they came to their client. Every breath, _Rhea_. Every door, _Rhea?_ Every step: _Rhea, Rhea, Rhea! _Whoever this was, something inside of Byleth either feared or fancied her.

Unable to contain her curiosity any longer, Byleth asked, “what is this ‘Rhea’ like?”

Catherine shot her a glance over her shoulder, halfway between disbelief and bemusement. “Don’t you know?”

“Should I?”

At the same time that Catherine said “yes”, Jeralt spoke up from behind her with a disgruntled “no”. Catherine, now all the more intrigued, took Byleth’s ignorance in stride. “How to describe Rhea, huh? Let’s see...well, she’s generous.”

“Yet shrewd,” Shamir interjected.

“Kind, no doubt!”

“But firm.”

“Strong as a dragon!”

“Yes,” Shamir agreed, “and sharp as the sword that brings it down.”

The amalgamation of reports left Byleth wondering whether she be about to face a god or a demon. The answers, however, did nothing to sate the voice inside.

_Rhea, Rhea, Rhea._

When Byleth thought the voice about to burst out from inside her altogether, Catherine halted before an all-too conspicuous entrance. Fine-crafted double doors stood between her and their destination. An artist had no doubt gone to painstaking lengths to turn these into a modern masterpiece, painted vines twisting up the sides of each until they formed a dragon’s head at the top. A sign hung above, gilded in golden lettering: _Rhea Seiros, Chief Executive Officer_.

If the entryway proved equal parts formidable and breathtaking, Byleth could only imagine the magnitude of the one who lay within.

“You kept up,” Catherine chirped. “Now let’s see if you can manage the same with the boss.” Without further ado, Catherine opened the door and ushered them in.

Whatever Byleth had envisioned Rhea as beforehand, foresight failed to capture the splendour of her true incarnation. Behind the dragon’s door stood a woman whose elegance rivaled that of royalty. Crystalling slippers elevated a picturesque figure wrapped in fine, white silk. About her collar, she bore a necklace heavy with charms of obvious quality but of designs unknown to Byleth. Green hair tumbled down beneath a crown of gold, flanked on either side by the oddly-shapen ears Shamir had sported with pride. Only these ears were adorned with diamonds where others bore glued-on rhinestones. It would have looked humorous on others, but it brought the otherwise-divine appearance down to earth in some small way.

The voice inside shook, sobbed. _Rhea…_

When Rhea at last looked upon her, time dwindled away until all the world awaited her words: “you came”.

Byleth would have assumed she spoke to Jeralt, but their gaze had been glued to one another, a magnet finding its metal. No sooner had the words escaped her lips than Rhea tore her eyes from Byleth and turned them towards Jeralt. The weary longing present in them subsided to a warm familiarity offset by a tinge of wariness. “I’m afraid to admit that I did not share Alois’ assurance.”

“Alois would believe Pinnochio even if his nose poked him in the butt.”

Jeralt’s unflattering joke still elicited a laugh from Rhea. “Yet here you are. It seems that, this time at least, his hope was well-placed.” She stretched out a limp hand in greeting, a castle-shaped ring gleaming in greeting. Jeralt bent low to press a kiss to the gemstone before stepping back. “It is good to have you home, Jeralt.”

“I never thought I would be,” he admitted.

Rhea ignored his underhanded insult to instead turn back towards Byleth. “This must be your daughter.” It was not a question.

“Figured that one out easily enough, did ya?” Jeralt stepped beside Byleth, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. She wondered whether he meant to reassure her or Rhea that he was still here - between them. “Rhea, allow me to introduce you to my child: Byleth. By, this is…”

“Your client,” Rhea concluded before Jeralt could say otherwise. The fragrance of lilies filtered into Byleth’s nose before Rhea had the chance to approach. A pleasant scent, she thought, but bittersweet somehow. It took her but another moment to realize: lilies lined funeral halls, lilies topped tombstones. It was lilies Jeralt placed on her mother’s grave every year. Rhea smelt of a sweet, but imminent, death.

“The resemblance is striking…”

In far less successful company, Byleth would have scoffed. No one had ever claimed she looked anything like Jeralt - nor should they. She could have passed for his midlife crisis hookup sooner than she could have for his child. “It is an honor to be compared to my father,” she said instead, “and even more so to meet you.”

Rhea’s brow crinkled for but a moment, revealing the age hidden behind well-applied makeup. Those lilac eyes pierced through Byleth, a flash of suspicion and confusion, and she felt her heart stop. Skip. Restart.

_Does she know?_

And then the ire faded, faster than it came. “And just as pleasant, I see. Much more so than you, old friend.” A giggle haunted the space she occupied as she glided over to take her seat behind the desk. “Loathe as I am to say it, it is better we postpone our pleasantries until later. This business is of the utmost importance.” She gestured in kind to those across from it. “Please, make yourselves at home.”

The chairs offered could have consumed Byleth whole, their cushions bowing to bear her weight like Atlas upholding the world. She would have sunk, had she not righted herself not half as gracefully as she would have liked. Rhea no doubt noticed, but made no mention of it. If anything, Rhea’s chair seemed more a throne than seat, its back stretching so it about brushed the ceiling.

“I assume you both have already been made aware of the situation?” Rhea surveyed them each in turn. “Alois is many things, but private is not one of them.”

“I am,” Jeralt confirmed. A sideways glance warned Byleth against exposing her ignorance, but Rhea either ignored or overruled his demand.

“And you, child?” She asked. “I take it you know what has brought you here, yes?”

With the utmost hesitation, Byleth told a half-truth and hoped for the best. “You have asked us to ensure the security of those staying at the resort,” she said, each word drawn out as her brain scrambled to complete her thought in some sensible manner. “I entrusted that my father would fill me in on the specifics at a later time - if needed, of course.”

Jeralt had never seemed half as relieved as he did then and there. His daughter had guarded his integrity, even to a woman they knew would see right through her ruse. Even given her present suspicions, Byleth would not overlook her father’s long-proven loyalty.

Rhea, however, appeared all the less pleased - and less surprised than Byleth had expected. “I suppose I should have expected as such. Jeralt has always kept a close hold on what he deems his.” The words sat heavy on Byleth’s chest, a weight she could not yet discern that crushed her resolve. “Here, however, that will not do. We at Disney see each employee and guest as members of an ever-expanding family. Would you not agree that family ought not keep secrets from one another?”

“Ordinarily not,” Byleth agreed, “but when the protection of someone you love requires privacy, the need for confidentiality supersedes that of honesty. If you have formed that trust with your family, then even unjust actions can be understood.”

“Such wisdom,” Rhea breathed with palpable awe. “Perhaps you speak the truth. But here, now? We…” She faltered, the shake of her head sending ripples through the waves of her hair. “...I need you. Both of you. Together.” Forlorn eyes pried at Jeralt for confirmation. “I trust you have no objections?”

Jeralt shrugged. “If that’s what you want.” 

Byleth had yet to see her father submit. Many an intimidating opponent had risen up against them, in broad daylight or behind closed doors, but he had never once backed down. Not until now. What about Rhea brought him to bend the knee? Were their coffers thinning or their reputation in peril, she would have assumed he needed to. But she knew no reason for need.

Did he want to?

Rhea resumed her unsettling smile. “That is good to hear, my dear friend. Then there shall be no more secrets between us. Allow me to shed some light on the current circumstances here at Walt Disney World.” Her fingers toyed with a machine on her desk. “Seteth?”

The device came to life with a crackle. “Yes, Rhea?”

“It is time.”

Without another word, Rhea released her hold on the device. Within moments, the door pushed open behind them. In walked a lean, well-kempt man with too stiff a posture for one his age. Unlike the extravagance of his superior, the stranger wore naught but a blue blazer trimmed in gold. The white button-down underneath seemed ready to choke him, but the mouse-shaped buttons running down his torso seemed the only less-than-serious part about him. Green hair - a shade deeper than Rhea’s, more forest than flower - framed a face that scrutinized she and her father both. “How might I be of assistance?”

Rhea beckoned him inward - a command he obeyed with the utmost haste, drawn to her side as soon as she waved her hand. “If we are to succeed in solving this mystery, we will all need to cooperate. Seteth, these are the ones entrusted with remedying our current malady. Jeralt, Byleth, I would like to introduce you to the President of the Walt Disney World resort: Seteth Cichol.”

While Jeralt had already found favor in Seteth’s eyes, that shine dimmed as his gaze passed over Byleth. A cold calculation iced over his former warmth until Byleth shivered beneath his stare. Although he and Rhea shared a sense of cordiality, Rhea had demonstrated an amicability that Seteth either lacked or cared not to feign. “I see. Then allow me to fill you both in our current predicament.

“One week ago, we received word that our internal servers had been compromised by an outside force. According to our subsequent findings, the hackers come from a small, independent organization known as ‘KOSTAS’. I believe you are already familiar with them?”

Jeralt nodded. “Unfortunately so. They had tried taking the information from the people of Remire-Montjoly. Had we not stepped in to stop them, they likely would have drained them of whatever funds they had left.”

That incident, Byleth recalled, sent Jeralt into the spotlight - and onto Alois’ television screen. Their reconnection thereafter became unavoidable, and imminent.

“You’re worried your guests had their credit card info stolen, right?” Byleth asked, tired of beating around the bush.

But Seteth shook his head. “One would think. Curiously, this KOSTAS accessed only a particular set of information: the personnel records for this semester’s Disney College Program participants.”

“In case you have not heard of it before,” Rhea interjected with a gentle hand laid on Seteth’s, “our college program accepts extraordinary students from universities across the nation - and, for some, throughout the known world. The lives of these students are invaluable to us. Their protection - and the sanctity of our program - is of the utmost importance.”

Byleth believed half of what they said. If she had learned anything from working with significant corporations, it was that the preservation of their reputation outranked the protection of their people. Not at first, of course. Not always. But when push came to shove, the employees’ livelihood suffered long before the company’s integrity ever did. 

Jeralt seemed just as reticent as she. “What are you concerned they plan to do with this information, exactly?”

“We’re not certain what this KOSTAS wants with the students.” Seteth frowned. “For someone to have deliberately ignored the financial information stored within our website, and instead choose to target the youth of our country? Something is amiss - and we will not sit idly by to find out what.”

“Regardless of their intentions,” Rhea said, “our security systems were presumed impregnable. Now we have found a gap in our armor. If we are to promise our guests and employees the same protection we now offer you, then we cannot afford to continue on in weakness.” At this, she leaned forward to clasp both their palms in her own. “That is why we need your strength.”

Jeralt, in a moment of unforeseen kindness, threaded his fingers through her own. “There’s no need to beg: you will have it.”

Be they true or feigned, tears assembled in an unfaltering line across her eyelids. “Thank you, old friend. Your sacrifice will not go unrewarded.” At that, she withdrew her hands until she had them folded before her. Byleth wondered whether she had imagined that Rhea released her hand ever so slightly slower than Jeralt’s. “Now then, since you seem to have experience in the matter: how do we go about combating this KOSTAS?”

Jeralt leaned back in his chair, leaning his feet against the front of her desk. Byleth noted, with no small amusement, the muted horror in Seteth’s eyes.

“First things first: By and I will need to find out how someone managed to break into your systems. Once we uncover the gap, we can find out how to fill it. But we’ll likely need to rebuild your infrastructure from the ground up.” Jeralt sighed, aware of their oncoming workload. “It won’t be easy, but it’s doable.”

“And KOSTAS?” Seteth asked, impatience sharpening his tone.

“Don’t you worry about that. If By and I can track that bastard down – and we will – then you can take him to court for all he’s worth. I assume you have a legal team?”

As with Jeralt’s feet, his language earned an equivalent amount of ire from Seteth. Still, he bit his tongue.

Rhea tapped her fingers against one another in thought, the same offbeat tambor as her father on their drive. “Should it come to that, there are options: Gilbert Pronislav, one of our eldest members here, has defended us time and time again. He would not fail us now, although I would rather not involve him if at all possible.”

Byleth wondered what Disney had done to drag them into the legal arena so many times in Rhea’s reign alone, but another question nagged at her all the more. “And the students?”

All three of the room’s inhabitants stared at her with varying levels of vexation, but Seteth spoke first. “They are not to be made aware of the breach under any circumstances. Should there be a threat against them, Catherine has already assured us that preventative measures have been and will be taken to ensure their protection.”

“With all due respect,” Byleth said, without an ounce of respect in her tone, “that’s not good enough.”

Were Seteth a volcano, Byleth swore he would have erupted right then and there. With how tightly wound he already looked, it came as no surprise that the smallest upset might push him over the edge. “In what do you believe we have lacked?”

Byleth knew that what she wanted to say would endanger their potential partnership. But if she stayed silent, she would regret it - and so would those kids. “All that we have decided on thus far has been for the good of the company - its reputation, its programs, its future guests. But it will take time for us to implement the procedures necessary to prevent this from happening again. In the meantime, you have a whole program’s worth of children who don’t even know the danger they are in!” 

Though he narrowed his eyes, his malice seemed tempered by interest. For now. “You have a plan, I presume?”

“Not a perfect one, but better than none.”

“Then let’s hear it.” Seteth folded his arms, either amused or mocking, and awaited her answer.

“If any rumor should arise about this specific group of individuals, and their safety there will need to be a way to dismiss the allegations. The only way to do that is to isolate these students. Shield them without letting them see the safeguard.” She hummed, the thought of a bleaker alternative manifesting in her mind. “That said, doing so could draw more attention to them. Or, worse, elicit a negative response from them...unless you make them believe that they have somehow been granted an exclusive privilege.”

Seteth piqued a brow. “Such as?”

Byleth continued, encouraged by the fact she had not yet been crucified at the castle gates. That was a good sign, right? “Think about it: what does success require? Leadership. Everyone, regardless of their craft or task, needs someone to teach them. Pupils require mentors to become masters. If you are hoping to employ these students full-time in the future, and to defend them from any potential threats, the best idea would be to include them all in a mentorship program. You counsel them, you cover them, you keep them. Forever.”

Whatever tension had lingered in Seteth’s posture dissipated with every second he considered her proposition. “And if the other students questioned their involvement?”

_Good_, the voice inside assured her, urging her on. _Looks like you’re winning him over. Now go in for the kill!_

“Tell them that the program is experimental, that all participants were chosen at random. They won’t have any evidence to the contrary, gossip aside, and you have the power to handpick the students you want - now and in the future.” Byleth leaned back, pleased with herself. “All in all, you can turn this total loss into a win-win situation.”

The way Jeralt stared at her with such shameless pride, Byleth knew: she had won. If not for their clients, then for her father, at least. And that was all that mattered.

To her relief, Rhea shared her father’s wonder. “It seems you are a special one indeed.” Although her face bore the same smile as Jeralt, Byleth could not help but note the absence of sincerity in Rhea’s praise. Jeralt was grateful Byleth had grown into a woman he could trust, but Rhea was grateful her trust in Byleth had not been betrayed. There was, in fact, a difference. A considerable one. “Tell me, child: how did you conjure such an idea?”

“I can answer that,” Jeralt interjected. “By here has trained all of our company recruits since she was out of high school. Merc Tech wouldn’t be half as successful without having her around to show the newbies the ropes.”

Rhea studied her, as though gazing long, hard, deep enough would make all of Byleth’s outer layers give way to the mysterious core beneath. “You train them how to use the technology, I take it?”

“Technically yes,” Byleth replied, “but there’s more to it than that. Mentorship isn’t just about shoving policies and procedures down your employees’ throats. If that were the case, you might as well hire a robot - they’d complain less.” Jeralt scoffed. She made a mental note to bring that up back at home. “A mentor needs to understand how their student learns best and then become that which they need most. You have to know when to challenge them and when to console them, when to show them how it’s done and when to force them to figure it out on their own. If you follow a formula, you’re both doomed to fail! It takes discernment, and a lot of it.”

“I see.” Rhea pondered this for a moment, leaning back in her throne. “Unfortunately, I know of no one in our ranks that would be capable of commanding such an operation. Do you, Seteth?”

He shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Were I not consumed with our current construction projects, I might be willing, if not altogether capable. But the Galaxy’s Edge renovations alone have overtaken my time as it is. As such, I’m afraid we have no other choice.”

Rhea nodded. “It’s as he says: we have no other choice but to instead offer the position to you, Byleth.” 

Seteth, Jeralt and Byleth all lurched forward in congruent shock. 

Unfettered, Rhea tamed them all with a wave of her hands. “You must understand the gravity of this situation. Byleth is right: we cannot afford to endanger the children. Nor can we ignore the KOSTAS Breach or the fallibility of our current security systems. If we slay one giant but not the other, we will all still be crushed in the end.

“Can I entrust this task to you, child?” Rhea’s eyes gleamed with a yearning hope. Byleth swore she had seen that same hunger somewhere, somewhen, before. It about broke her heart in two.

“...you can.”

Whatever breath Rhea had been holding, she released it in a breath of unfiltered relief. “Excellent. I will have Seteth deliver the personnel records on each of the students to you as soon as possible so that you might prepare how best to instruct them. Jeralt, you and I will reconvene tomorrow evening. I imagine we have much more to discuss about...KOSTAS.”

Jeralt rose from his chair. “Of course.” He nodded to Seteth, who did naught but stare back in delayed astonishment. “Come on, By. Let’s get you home.”

Her mission complete, Rhea rose as well. She took both of Byleth’s hands in her own and placed them over her heart. “What a pleasure it was to meet you, my child. Heavens willing, it will not be long until we meet again.”

Byleth knew not how to answer her, whether to thank or to threaten her. Every word Rhea uttered felt pregnant with mysteries Byleth had no interest in unraveling, ones that Rhea felt all too eager to birth. With a bow, she hurried down the hall after her father.

Their return trip proved less eventful than their entrance. Shamir offered no words of congratulations, and Catherine chose not to escort them home, and thus silence haunted their walk. Jeralt spoke only once he and Byleth both had returned to the safety of their vehicle.

“Mind telling me what you’re hoping to accomplish?”

Byleth recognized this strangled tone, the shiver of his brow. Fear and faith wrestled in every nook of his face until their tango distorted even his voice. She had seen this internal dilemma expressed seldom before, but she could scarcely recall when last she made such a gamble.

“If I do my job right? Protecting innocent kids from hackers, stalkers, and whatever else those KOSTAS creeps really are.”

“We were hired to help this corporation,” he reminded her, “not some hotshot college kids hoping to come here for a magical hookup abroad.” Jeralt clicked the key into the ignition, the grunt of their car coming to life masking his own groan. “Look, By. I know you’re not the type to sit around while someone’s in danger- kids especially. But did you have to stick your nose into this particular mess?”

“Your mess is my mess.”

Jeralt opened his mouth to respond, only for the breath to leave him entirely. He furrowed his brow for a moment before turning to face her, father to daughter. “You know, just now, you sounded like your mother.” The vice grip his gaze had on her heart twisted until it had wrung Byleth dry of any ache hidden within. They did not speak of her mother. Would not. Every time they did, they remembered how much her memory hurt. “Don’t tell me you’re doing it for her sake.”

“Maybe so. Not consciously, but…” Byleth withdrew, hugging her legs to her chest - a feeble attempt to push past the pain. “You told me that mom died because good people did nothing to stop a tragedy they could have prevented. If I stayed quiet in that meeting, I would have been no better than them.” Unbidden anger ground her teeth together. “I’m not about to let another would-be mom die, or another daughter be orphaned.”

Jeralt placed a calloused, caring hand on her shoulder. “Your mother would be proud, you know.” 

Both of them stayed motionless for a moment, then two, then more. As many as it took for the thought of her mother to ache a little less. Just enough to make it home, where their bedrooms could bottle their unseen tears. When the pain passed, Jeralt released her and returned to the wheel. “You ought to get some sleep now, before those kids of yours run you ragged the rest of this semester. It’ll be a while before we get back to the house anyhow.”

Byleth took his advice, testing just how far back this rental car chair could go. Not as much as she had hoped, but enough to bring about a nap that wouldn’t ruin her neck. One by one, the worries of her day ebbed away until dreams took ahold of her.

* * *

In the darkness of her dreams, the voice inside manifested itself. First, into a throne. One that towered overtop of her. And then into the one who sat upon it. A woman? No, she could scarcely be considered a girl.

“You have come.”

Byleth did her best to take in the visage of her brain’s self-invited visitor, but the instability of the unwoken world blurred her vision. Green hair, gold crown, purple gown, gray chair. “Who are you?” She asked. No, thought. Speech here came not from the mouth, but from the mind.

“Hmm, how to answer that? I am the beginning of this mystery, and the end of your story. I am the heart of the problem you cannot name, a provider of the providence you once wished for” She giggled, a laugh that brought light to this obscured world, that brought a breeze to the stagnant air, that brought lilies crawling up to perch upon her throne. “In that sense, I guess you could say...I’m your fairy godmother!”


	2. Let the Games Begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seteth pays the unsuspecting Byleth a late night visit before her first day of teaching, leading to an awkward confrontation; the three house leaders pit their differences against one another before class has even started, until they're presented with the opportunity to turn their grievances into a game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience with this chapter! I'm aiming for one update a month, albeit a hefty one - y'all now know 8k words to be my standard allotment per chapter. We're still in the thick of the plot-centric prologue, but I sprinkled in more chunks of Disney magic to compensate!

Despite her so-called Fairy Godmother’s assurances to the contrary, Byleth found that answered wishes came few and far between. Sothis, as her godmother designated herself, provided invisible wisdom more so than physical miracles. Thus, the weeklong workload Seteth had assigned to Byleth for the sake of familiarizing her with the soon-to-be students still sat piled high on her desk without sign of shrinking.

At the very least, Disney had provided a workspace that far exceeded the standard fare. Byleth had expected a cubicle, if anything. Yet she had come into work to find her name on the plaque outside a private office - and a well-furnished one at that. A light wooden desk sat opposite a small - no, cozy - white couch. A bookshelf full of well-loved volumes stood guard beside the seating area, it's only other companion a movie poster that hung on the wall. 

That poster? An original copy of the advertisements used in theatres across America to promote Mulan. She had seen it only once, when Jeralt had fallen asleep with the television still on after work, but it had enraptured her. The heroine’s persistent strength, the way the army rallied around her despite their initial doubts, the romance of a man and woman who could stand strong on their own but still wanted one another - it all felt right to her. Besides, unlike other princesses Byleth could think of, she didn’t need a fairy godmother to come save her.

Sothis had objected to that. That is, until Byleth reminded her of the paper stash yet to be completed. Where were magical, talking mice when you needed them?

Her hopes of an easy out set aside, Byleth resumed the last portion of her studies. The last six days had shown her every sort of human being she never knew existed outside of movies and games: the rich kid entitled to his father’s vast inheritance, the overachiever working to win back her father’s affection, the boy striving to step out of his father’s shadow. Come to think of it, this would already have been solved had any one of her students dealt with their daddy issues.

Leave it to Byleth to sort them out instead.

Now, on the eve of her first class, she had only a handful of files left. Byleth had just reached down to the mouse-shaped knobs of her desk drawers - a feature she found both endearing and disturbing - when someone knocked on the door. Jeralt, she assumed. Her father had come to visit almost every night since their employment began. More often than not, he came with a snack (or a drink) in hand.

The Eisners’ ever-private lifestyle had left Byleth with little in the way of manners. Jeralt took little care to adhere to etiquette, much less in the company of his own daughter. Byleth made no qualms about it. She preferred a public professionalism and a private informality. Thus, it seemed only appropriate to answer her father’s unexpected request for entry with: “Not naked, come in.”

A hesitant Jeralt stepped through the door after a moment of unexpected hesitation. No sooner had the door creaked open than the room filled with a fresh, summer scent. The moment the smell of laundered clothing met her nose instead of her father’s offensive flannel and leather combo, her hand stilled. She knew Jeralt’s aroma: musk, sandalwood, the undertone of old whiskey. But this - sea foam and coconut water and the lingering ghost of lilacs on clean skin? Jeralt wouldn’t be caught smelling like this!

_Which means my worst nightmare has come true._

Byleth turned with the utmost reluctance to find not Jeralt, but Seteth, standing in the doorway. The bed-headed blonde she had envisioned entering was nowhere to be seen, replaced instead by the stiff, well-groomed head of this fantasy world. The deep-seated lines of his brow left little hope that her employer would have a sense of humor...or a severe lack of awareness concerning sexual harassment policies.

“Not the most...conventional greeting,” Seteth determined through thin-spread lips. “I assume you had expected your father’s company. Should the faculty have found you in such a compromising situation, I would imagine you would have already resigned. Heavens forbid it have been one of your students instead.”

Byleth could count, with no lack of certainty, the few times she had ever bowed to another’s intimidation. Goddess damn her if she backed down because of an ill-timed joke. “I wouldn’t want to scar them all so early on.”

If Seteth had issued the quietest hum of laughter, neither pretended to notice. Byleth, however, failed not to notice the crinkle forming at the edge of his eyes when at last his frown faltered - the only sign of age apparent about him.

“Forgive me,” he said after a moment of contemplation. Byleth wondered whether she would ever hear those words again. She wondered if he would be willing to repeat them once she could get her phone’s voice recorder working. “I suppose it is in my nature to scrutinize our company’s newcomers. I could not pass up the opportunity to ‘break the ice’, so to speak, when given the chance.”

Byleth shrugged. “To be fair, I set myself up for it.”

“Indeed.” Seteth nodded, an unforeseen slyness painting his expression with a rare, well-suited humor. “For a moment, I feared Manuela might have begun rubbing off on you already.”

Manuela had, in fact, left an impression on Byleth - one she would be hard-pressed to repress. Byleth had never met someone with the bombastic charisma of the Kardashians and the unyielding misfortune of the Baudelaires. Nothing short of a walking soap opera, Manuela paraded through her days with high heels and low hopes. Her romantic escapades left her bemoaning men all throughout the company - and they about her in equal, if not greater, measure.

To a fellow woman, however, Manuela displayed an unexpected openness. One coffee and a chance encounter in the faculty lounge was all it took for the two to chatter the hour away. Well, Manuela chattered. Byleth listened with inward intrigue and external disinterest. Still, the conversation carried on for too long should her face had seemed that off-putting. That, or Manuela cared little what face Byleth made so long as the ears attached to it listened to her.

Even still, Byleth had found Manuela’s stories so humorous, so unbelievably hyperbolic, that she found herself drawn to them with every second she had to spare. She wondered whether Manuela won over her audiences in much the same manner? 

The two had formed an unspoken agreement: meet on every available break to discuss the day’s oddities and adventures. With any luck, Byleth would learn a thing or two about the company and its mysterious employers. If that fortune persisted, Byleth could work those loose lips into spiling information about her coworkers, too. Perhaps even the students...

“Manuela has rubbed plenty of people,” Byleth retorted, attempting to suppress the smirk that begged her to escape, “but not me...yet.” She leaned across the desk to procure her long-abandoned coffee mug. As she stared down into the cold liquid, she muttered, “had she done so, I would need a lot less clothing and a lot more vodka.”

_Don’t even think of asking Manuela to spike your drink_, Sothis chided. _What kind of a fool are you!?_

A shudder racked Seteth, escaping up his spine and out through his mouth as a flustered chuckle. No doubt he had seen one too many a victim of Manuela’s “rubbing”. Perhaps he, too, had fallen prey to it at one point. “I believe one Manuela is enough for everyone.” He gestured to the couch opposite her desk. “May I?”

With Byleth’s mute approval, Seteth sat on the edge of the cushion. Even seated, his posture never faltered. She would have supposed he hated her taste in furniture, had he not been the one to (presumably) pick it out. 

Byleth wondered what it would take to see his composure crumble. That said, her innocent sadism would have to wait - there were battles that need only be won later on. This one required her full attention. “Don’t tell me I’m already in trouble.”

“Not every conversation is an inspection,” Seteth insisted. His tone, however, suggested that every response would come with a corresponding rating. Byleth pondered how well she had rated thus far. “I came to check on you. You have prepared much, or so I have heard.”

_It seems you’ve been found out_. The thought both humored and unhinged Sothis. On one hand, Byleth’s nights spent slumped over the couch Seteth now claimed had now come to the light. On the other, it meant someone could be paying too close of an eye on her. In her line of work, that proved all too dangerous.

But who would have done so? Sure, Manuela liked to talk, not to mention drink and then talk all the more after she had drank. But even when hammered, Manuela maintained her disdain for Seteth. Catherine came to mind. She had watched Byleth with an undeserved wariness since her first meeting. That said, Byleth had gleaned she cared little for anything unless it had to do with either Rhea or Shamir.

_Shamir…_ Now that theory had potential. Sure, Catherine had a responsibility to the park’s safety even more so than Shamir. But her partner’s taciturn nature lent itself more to covert espionage than public confrontation. If she - or Catherine - thought of Byleth as a threat, it stood to reason that she would have her eyes on her newfound coworker at all times.

Either that, or Jeralt hadn’t stopped bragging about her to Rhea and Seteth, and that wasn’t a possibility she was prepared to face right now.

“I’m worth what I’m paid,” she stated simply. Byleth didn’t bother voicing suspicions to someone already skeptical of her. “Besides, I had to. Seems my boss thought I could memorize twenty-seven student profiles in a week’s time.”

“It seems your boss thought correctly.” Seteth eyed the waylaid folders with a well-contained admiration. “Well done. It would have taken quite some time for even our brightest Imagineers to muster the mental fortitude needed for such an assignment. No wonder your family carries such a commendable reputation.”

Byleth leaned back in her chair, observing Seteth as he saw fit to do to her. Had she any hope of uncovering Jeralt’s relation to this place, she would need to dig. Seteth could prove a gold mine in the making! Yet no one seemed persistent - or brazen - enough to delve that deep. Byleth, however, prided herself on being both. “I take it you’ve met my father before, then?”

“I’m afraid not,” Seteth stated. “Not beyond rumor, anyway. Even Rhea had not spoken of him prior to our meeting. Although, now that she has, I fear she may never stop talking about him.” Remembering his place, Seteth cleared his throat. A tide of red embarrassment flooded his face, lapping at his pale cheeks until it stained them crimson. “Perhaps that was inappropriate of me to say. Forgive my indiscretion, it has been a long week.”

“It’ll be our secret.” Byleth savored the hint of triumph that came with causing that facade to slip. Even still, she could not count that victory as hers alone. After all, she had not even brought Rhea to his attention!

_She’s stubborn, I’ll give her that_, Sothis mused. _But that single-mindedness could be the death of her._

Byleth still had no answer as to why Sothis had remained so adamant about meeting Rhea that first, fateful day. Even Sothis seemed stumped at the realization that she had urged Byleth on to meet with her. Whatever godmother magic she proclaimed to possess could not surpass her own understanding. And thus, both remained victims of this mystery.

“Whatever happened between them,” Byleth continued, “it must have changed both their lives.” _For better or for worse_, she concluded.

When Seteth frowned, the age drained from his face. His once-permanent poise slipped away as soon as he pouted. It took Byleth aback, but she wondered whether he even realized how childish he appeared when perplexed. “Don’t you know?”

“Know what?”

“What they went through. You must have been present, were you not?”

Byleth shook her head. “So long as I’ve been allowed, Jeralt’s never let me anywhere near here.” _And now I know why_, she thought in half-hearted jest. It did not improve her mood. “I only met Rhea last week. Right before I met you, actually.”

“I see.” Had Byleth not borne the same evident confusion, she was sure Seteth would have allowed his vexation to overtake him. As it were, he chose to believe her explanation. It did little to mollify him, however. “Well, it seems you have solicited our president’s approval sooner than any other employee. I’m sure many would envy such favor.”

She had played it safe thus far, but both of them had tread into dangerous waters. What was one more wave to do? “You seem to share that sentiment.”

Seteth huffed. That breath, however, did not release an ounce of the tension that now wound him all too tight. “Do not misunderstand me. It is the others’ responsibilities to trust, to hope, to dream. It is mine to doubt until one has proven their loyalty. That is the only way in which I can protect this place, and the passions of all those within it. No doubt you will soon do the same for your students.”

Tenderness softened the harsh lines of his eyes as a vulnerable quiet settled between them. “I do hope you will prove worthy of protecting, too. For Rhea’s sake, if no one else’s.”

Warmth wormed its way up into the deepest caverns of Byleth’s chest the moment Seteth finished his confession. A dream and a dread tangled themselves together into an inseparable knot that burnt her chest.

_Everyone wants to find their family_, Sothis said with bittersweet understanding, _and everyone fears they will not find it...or, at the least, keep it._

“Does that make us alike, you and I?”

The question startled Seteth, if his widened eyes proved of any indication. Truth be told, Byleth surprised herself with her boldness. Perhaps that innate fire had caused her to choke on the inquiry until she spit it out.

“It may stand to reason that we share a similar protective nature. I believe you may even match the sharpness of my mind - not to mention my tongue.” Seteth had not allowed the shock to dictate his answers, each word chose with care: the tried-and-true sign of a man bred for public relations. “That being said, I would never be so brazen as to defy a potential employer amidst a job interview.”

“You’ve never spoken against Rhea?” The thought would have served as a surprise, had she not known Seteth’s type. Past experiences with people like him proved he would follow her every word unwillingly, but unwaveringly. “Not once, in all the years you’ve worked here?”

Seteth scoffed. “I didn’t say that. I am many things to Rhea, but my role as her advisor remains the most prominent. There are times, albeit few, when I must stand my ground for the good of the company. She knows this. But I would not have won her trust had I done so half as soon as you.”

He leaned forward without warning. That unnerving sharpness that Rhea unsheathed when the situation dictated its need caused his eyes to shine green, a python set to strike. “Do not squander the favor you have unduly found. Many have longed for it, worked for it, sacrificed their life for it. Better to steward it than abuse it.”

Seteth rose, those serpentine eyes seeming all the more imposing as he stared down at her from on high. “Consider it a word of friendly advice.”

“Are we friends now?”

The room rang with soft laughter as Seteth’s hand clutched the doorknob. “Good night, Byleth.” He managed to make it halfway through the doorframe before turning back around. “And good luck tomorrow. With those kids, you’ll need it.”

* * *

“Please tell me you’re kidding.”

Manuela broke the news when Byleth had a hold on her coffee but had not yet managed to let its intoxicating caffeine dull her sharpened tongue. A fatal mistake, for sure. “Let me get this straight: Seteth scheduled the introductory meeting with hormone-addled students at lunchtime...on the weekend...in a windowless, white-walled conference room when the world’s literally most magical dining experiences are on the other side of the parking lot?”

Manuela sipped her own drink - something too strong for Byleth, and not from the roast - in response. Her eyes hovered overtop the rim of the mug as lipstick left a red reminder along its edge. The arch of her brow suggested her understanding, and her mutual annoyance. Clearly, she had been similarly screwed before, and not in the way she would have liked.

“That’s what you get when you leave babysitting to a businessman.” Manuela leaned - no, lounged - against the back wall of the faculty lounge. Behind her, a masterful rendition of Prince Charming leaned longingly towards a starstruck Cinderella. Or, at least, he would have, had Manuela not stood right where the princess was painted. If Manuela meant to have perfectly obscured Cinderella from sight, she made no mention of it.

“Think of it this way,” Manuela continued, tapping manicured fingers along the outside of her cup, “they’re bound to be at their worst now, right? Tired, hungry, wishing they were spending their weekend at a party or in the parks. Your whole self-improvement shtick should be a whole lot easier when you’re starting at the bottom, shouldn’t it?”

Byleth hated that she had a halfway-decent point. But that didn’t improve her odds. “Remind me of that next time you meet a man.”

Manuela might have taken feigned offense to that, had she not noticed something behind them. “Speaking of men, I’ve struck out with this one enough.” With a wink, she exited stage right before Byleth could protest. “Knock ‘em dead, slugger.”

Byleth followed her departure, only to notice Seteth now approaching. His company might have been appreciated the night prior, but it brought her no joy to see him now.

“It seems I have scared off the less-than-savory company you keep,” Seteth noted without a hint of amusement on his face. Byleth could not tell whether he meant that in jest or not. Was this how everyone else felt when she delivered a deadpan joke? “But that can wait - your introduction is imminent. Have you any last minute questions?”

“One,” Byleth responded, without an ounce of restraint. “How do you expect these kids to pay attention when we’re not serving them food?”

Confusion and vexation battled for dominance on Seteth’s face, with ire winning out in the end. “This is a meeting, not a meal,” he answered. Any previous softness of tone had instead been traded for steel. “I expect them to act like adults, not pampered children.”

_You are the children_, Sothis chided internally, _squabbling like babies instead of working together._

At that, Byleth forced herself to breathe. She could feel Sothis ease, sense the smug grin of triumph she would have worn. Byleth, however, refused to smile. “Answer me this: when you meet with others, do you do so in your office?”

“Ordinarily.”

“Even with your biggest investors?”

Seteth pondered that for a moment. “Well, no. Company policy dictates that we showcase the hospitality we are so well-known for. Wining and dining a potential donor could lead to a future partnership, not to mention a much-needed increase in funds.”

“Exactly,” Byleth said. “Yet we’re barely tolerating their presence. I’m not one to talk, but that doesn’t seem to be the Disney way.”

“Because they are not investors,” Seteth clarified.

Byleth nodded. “Not yet - and they never will be unless we treat them as such.” At this, she retrieved the stack of files stashed away at her bag. “Just look at these kids, Seteth. First sons of famous politicians, self-made celebrities, social icons-to-be! These kids are the future, but we’re not even bothering to give them a sandwich today. Don’t be surprised when they won’t give you a dollar tomorrow.”

Seteth’s jaw clenched, chewing on each and every word as though it were an unsavory vegetable - one he knew he needed to digest, but one he was loathe to swallow. At last, he huffed out the breath that had built up inside of him. “Fine. I’ll contact the kitchen and see what I can do about collecting some light refreshments.”

“Or,” Byleth offered, with a raised brow, “we could go on a field trip.”

“You’re joking.”

“Afraid not.”

Seteth could only rub his temple, the vein begging to pop out of his skin entirely. “Where do you plan on whisking them all away to, exactly? Every restaurant in the parks has reservations we cannot afford to cancel on a whim!”

Byleth paid him little mind. Instead, she scrolled through her phone to find a solution. The My Disney Experience app sprung to life, trudging through the menus with an unwanted tedium. The reception backstage, as it turned out, was as bad as their hospitality. “They only have reservations if they’re already open.”

As Byleth turned the phone towards him, Seteth stared at the screen. First in surprise, then in defeat. “You will only have an hour before it opens. You understand this, correct?”

“It’s all I’ll need,” she assured him. “But I can’t do this without you.” She handed him the phone.

Although he accepted it, he seemed paralyzed when it came to dial the number. “You understand these are children, Byleth.”

“For now,” she agrees. “But so were you - and now you’re the leader of a new generation of Imagineers. The generation after us will inherit everything we leave them with, the good and the bad. Best to make allies of them while we still can.”

Seteth sighed. “Perhaps you have a point.”

“And perhaps you have a heart.”

He laughed at that. “We shall see.” As he began to dial the number, he added, “you had best be right about this, or you won’t get any more favors as long as you work here.”

She saluted him just as the phone began to dial. Seteth walked away with a smile on his face and a finger in his ear, but she heard the words he uttered just before he left: “Tony, I need a favor.”

* * *

Byleth had expected to battle against the whims and worries of twenty-some teenagers who had yet to trust their mysterious teacher. Even her wildest imaginations could not have prepared her to step foot into an all-out warzone, one centered around the others instead of herself.

A clamor echoed from inside the classroom before Byleth could even open its door. Shouts, gasps, a high-pitched whistle - nothing out of the ordinary for rowdy children. Yet the accusatory tone of two dominant voices screamed: _danger, danger, danger_. Byleth knew she needed to diffuse whatever situation had arisen therein.

Byleth slipped into the classroom without attracting attention. A small blessing, in this case. The sheer amount of students in such cramped quarters allowed for her footsteps to be stifled, even if one glance in her direction would give her away.

The class split into three distinct sections: a well-dressed collection of students grouped protectively together, a pile of apparent friends huddled together in apparent camaraderie, and a sparse cluster of kids who viewed the scene before them with the vague disinterest of filmgoers forced to repeat a movie they hated the first time through. The only outliers had taken to centerstage, their clash no doubt the conflict Byleth had overheard.

Edelgard von Hresvelg prowled before her protectors with a predator’s gaze in the guise of prey. Rivers of white flowed down from her crown to form a holy shroud about her darkened clothing. Fists stuck out from the sleeves of a blood red blazer that hid the black jumpsuit beneath. Golden heels gave her a much-needed inch or six, but her opponent still towered overtop of her. “If you believe we are here based solely on our merits, then you ought to be blind in both eyes!”

Despite his furrowed brow, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd maintained a softness to his composure that Edelgard cared not to keep. But Byleth could sense the tension forming beneath his temple. A twitch of the eye - too slight to be noticed by the untrained eye - cracked the kind mask just enough. This boy was a pot about to boil. “I only mean to suggest that we ought hear what our professor has to say before jumping to conclusions.”

“You could ask her yourself.” All eyes turned away from the central troublemakers and towards the newest instigator, a man whose youth shone through every pore and practiced smile. Both hands stretched out from his yellow overcoat to hang in lazy support of his head. 

_Claude von Riegan_, Byleth’s mind supplied. _Socialite, instigator, secret keeper_. Byleth knew better than to take her eye off of that one.

With everyone’s attention summoned, Claude snatched the paper airplane his classmate had made with an untraceable deftness and flew it forward. It soared through the eye, holding every eye, until it landed flatly in Byleth’s outstretched hands. Claude admired his handiwork with a wink.

Byleth crumpled the paper. “Ask me what?”

The whole room faltered, caught like a herd in the headlights. All except for Edelgard. With Dimitri still reeling, Edelgard stepped overtop of him to make the first move. “Only what we have been chosen for, Teacher.” She outstretched a white-gloved hand in greeting. “Allow me to introduce myself: I am Edelgard von Hresvelg, House Leader of the Patterson Court Black Eagles. Although I assume you have already heard about me.”

Byleth took the hand, but could not hide her confusion. “I have heard of you,” she admitted, “but not of these ‘house leaders’.”

Genuine surprise colored Edelgard’s face. “Has Seteth failed to inform you of our circumstances?”

He had, in fact. All of that paperwork without a single mention of this. Sothis made a mental note to harass Seteth about it later, but Byleth’s mind remained preoccupied with one other question: _why does Edelgard already know Seteth? To address him so casually…_

“Now Edelgard,” Dimitri chided, having snapped out of his daze as Byleth entered hers, “you cannot expect the whole world to keep watch on us simply because of our lineage.” Blue eyes glowed with a sincere gratitude as they turned their radiance to face Byleth directly. “My apologies, Professor. I’m afraid my classmate can become so consumed in her - rather, our - world that she forgets not everyone eats, sleeps, and breathes the Disney name.”

Were Edelgard an animal, Byleth swore she would have bit Dimitri’s head clean off. She gave a glare that could have burned straight through the ill-defended. “Perhaps not. Were I in charge, however, I would have briefed her on her duties.”

With a huff, Edelgard turned to Byleth. “The Disney College Program provides three separate facilities to house its students - Patterson Court, Chatham Square, and Vista Way.”

From the back of the room, Claude and his cohorts raised a cheer for their house.

“I suppose there is the Commons,” Edelgard continued, unperturbed by (or accustomed to) the recent outcry, “although none of us reside there. It is kept primarily for our foreign exchange students instead. Each of the three central facilities designates a single leader to represent their housemates.”

“It’s essentially a glorified RA,” Claude called out from behind them. He had risen from his seat following the outburst, only to stride down the center aisle to get in on the action. “We schedule meetings, throw those awkward get-togethers everyone pretends to like, and do the occasional drug-busting room inspection. All in a day’s work.” He winked. “All without the need for an election! Nepotism comes in handy...when it favors you, of course.”

Dimitri frowned. “Claude, we did not become house leaders because we bear Disney blood.”

Edelgard cleared her throat, and Dimitri rephrased his statement. “_Solely_ because we bear Disney blood. We have done much to earn the respect of our housemates! Burdens borne, kindness shown, responsibilities upheld - these are what entitled us to these positions.”

All of Dimitri’s preaching elicited naught but a shrug from Claude. “All I’m saying is having a fancy family name doesn’t hurt.”

“Loathe as I am to admit it,” Edelgard said through gritted teeth, “Claude has a point. Which is why we ought to change the system from the inside.”

The sigh that fell from Dimitri’s lips lay weighed down with the knowledge that this battle had already been lost. And, if Byleth’s assumptions proved true, it had been a war waged for a long time now - one with no end in sight. “The Professor has not come to hear your radical ideals. She has come to shape them!” Those shining eyes searched for confirmation. “Isn’t that right, Professor?”

“Actually,” Byleth clarified, “you’re both right.”

No other answer could have delighted and devastated them as much as that one had. Even Claude’s eyes narrowed, hunting for understanding he could not grasp.

“My mission is to learn all I can about all of you. With that knowledge, I can help you become all that you ever have ever dreamt of being. The best versions of yourselves lie at the end of this program. If that means your methods change everything here we know, so be it. Or, should you hope to preserve the past, then do so.”

Neither Edelgard nor Dimitri knew how to respond. The ramifications of her claim meant their bickering could come to a close, one way or another. Byleth only feared that both believed they would come out as the sole victor - even if it meant endangering the other’s vision.

Claude took it upon himself to break both the tension and the silence, slinging both arms around the shoulders of his fellow leaders. “See? We ought to get along a whole let better, now that Teach is here!”

“Then perhaps,” Edelgard muttered as she struggled out of Claude’s grasp, “we ought to take our seats.”

The room motioned to follow her command, but Byleth raised her hand. All movement ceased. “That won’t be necessary. We’re going on a field trip!”

* * *

To Byleth’s surprised delight, the students followed about in as orderly a fashion as she could have hoped. Though they still cooed and crooned at the wonders of the Magic Kingdom, they made no move to abandon their destination. Food still remained their top priority.

_Still such children_, Sothis noted. Her tone lacked its classic acidity, the caustic edge replaced by gentle amusement. It sounded no different than when a mother reflected on fond memories of her children. 

Byleth wished her own mother had the chance to do the same.

The nostalgic scent of fresh-baked bread broke Byleth out of her mental stupor. Tony’s Town Square Restaurant rose to greet their merry band with promises of handmade pasta and the sultry notes of Bella Notte ringing through the air.

Its interior, however, proved a veritable minefield of activity. With its opening a mere hour away, and a private party of twenty-something VIPs encroaching on their tables even earlier, servers and bussers bustled about with unwavering haste. No sooner had the students entered the establishment than Bernadetta risked decapitation from a passing waiter’s waylaid tray. The poor thing would have fainted - or run away altogether - had Raphael not held her upright. For now.

Amidst the sea of catering came the call of a man adamant to quell the tides. A stout, balding man who resembled the very meatballs he made stood at the store’s helm, waving his waiters about. The ocean parted wide enough for Byleth to slip through and greet their maitre d while her students scrambled for a seat.

As soon as Byleth approached, the man’s countenance shifted. A forced cordiality illuminated his visage, but the consistent wringing of his sweat-wet hands betrayed the calm demeanor. “Ah, signora! You must-a be the beauty Mr. Cichol warned us about, eh? Welcome to Tony’s!”

Byleth doubted Seteth would ever describe her as such. Bossy? Yes. Obstinate? Almost certainly? Beautiful? Unlikely. If he hoped to butter her up like one of his biscuits, he would do better to save his breath. Even still, she need not raise a fuss. Byleth preferred her food free of spit. Or poison.

_Do not be so brazen_, Sothis warned, _not before we know who makes up KOSTAS - or who would ally with them._

Byleth took her godmother’s advice. “You flatter me. Please, just Byleth is fine.” Her eyes scanned his apron for a nametag. Beyond a set of inexplicable stains, and the vintage pin featuring Lady and the Tramp, it had no other accessories. “Tony, I presume?”

The manager pressed in closer as a group of children idled outside the nearby doorway. “Actually, my dear, you might know me as Oliver Tanas of South Philadelphia’s Little Italy.” His voice had lost all trace of its former inflection, yet it retained that same flamboyant sound. Both its volume and sound returned as he bellowed, “but the kids love-a the accent, ya?”

The kids did, indeed, cheer. 

Sothis, however, did not. _Some people are a special brand of stupid._

Her goddaughter could not argue that. “Well then. Thank you for accommodating us on such short notice...Tony.”

‘Tony’ dismissed her worries with a wave of his hand. “Tranquilla, signora. No trouble at all! You just sit there, look pretty, and allow our finest waiters to serve-a you and your handsome group of students.”

One glance at the wait staff proved the insincerity of this statement. It might be no trouble for ‘Tony’, but those about him looked doubtful that they could handle the onslaught of customers. They had enough on their plates already - literally and metaphorically.

Which gave Byleth an idea.

“Actually, don’t.”

“Have we offended you already, signora?” Tony’s feigned conviction would have convinced her, had the fear of losing her service not set his voice to cracking. “Here at Tony’s, you’re-a one of the family - a real paisan! Please, let us serve you.”

“It’s not that,” she assured him. The guarantee reinflated his quickly-crumpling posture. “I have an idea - for the student’s sake. One that might benefit your...family, too. Have your staff line the food along the wall. Buffet style. Assure them that they will be tipped generously regardless of the change.”

(Back at headquarters, Seteth felt an instinctive tinge of annoyance. Why he reached for his wallet, he could not explain, but he had a sickening sense that it would be even emptier soon…)

Not even Cheshire could rival the grin that sprung in wicked glee across Tony’s face. “As you say, signora.” Two thunderous claps of his hands summoned his staff to attention. Orders rolled from his tongue like thunder, each in the lavish tongue of Italy. Byleth never had the privilege of, or desire to, learn the language, but she assumed her wishes would come to fruition. Money made the unwilling find their motivation.

_Now if only my students could be as easily enticed_. Said students had situated themselves in much the same manner, each house huddled together at elongated tables. That, or multiple tables pulled together, much to the staff’s chagrin. _Too bad I can’t even convince them to sit together._

Following Tony’s lead, Byleth stood atop the dog-shaped fountain in the center of the room and clapped her hands. It took three times, compared to Tony’s two, but her students ceased their chattering. All except for Sylvain, silenced only when Ingrid had gutted him with her elbow.

Byleth nodded in silent gratitude for their focus and began her gambit. “Well, now that we’re out of the dungeon and into the promised land, why don’t we get down to business? My name, as some have already discovered, is Byleth Eisner. My boss would like you all to refer to me as the ‘Disney College Program Coordinator’. But, seeing as how I don’t care one whit about titles - especially ones longer than Sylvain’s last relationship - you can call me Professor, Teacher, whatever you like. But if I find out it’s inappropriate, you’re working It’s a Small World for a week.”

Below her, Byleth noticed the snickers passing through the class. Some nodded along, others applauded. Even felix smirked, despite the obvious affront to his best friend’s integrity. Sylvain, however, seemed to relish the attention from a beautiful lady. His last relationship had, after all, ended - meaning he was free to blow a kiss to their conveniently-single professor!

_How on earth did your deadpan brand of humor manage to win the, over?_ Sothis wondered, befuddled. _Well you might as well get on with it. You can’t afford to lose them now!_

“But I want each of you to consider me your personal mentor. Although the rest of the faculty will conduct classes based on their strengths and your needs, I have a different part to play. That of a coach, a homeroom teacher, and a guidance counselor all rolled into one arduous package. My job? To ensure that each of you ascends to your utmost potential.

“At times, that may require I push you. But before I push, I will listen to you. I will learn from you. If you’re lucky, I might even like you.”

Sylvain whistled. That is, until another blow - this time from Annette - silenced him once and for all.

“If all goes according to plan,” Byleth continued, undaunted and unflattered, “then not only will you come to love the year you spend here, but you will walk away competent and confident in the world beyond Disney.”

Amidst the Golden Deer, a girl whose beauty came from compacts and hair products - _Helga? Tilda? Goddess, there are too many to remember_ \- raised her hand. “Wow, Professor. That was soooo inspirational! But what about those of whose strengths lie more in motivating others than in motivating ourselves?”

Claude, seated beside her, smirked. “What Hilda here means is: ‘what if you don’t care about being a better person?’”. His teeth gleamed like fangs as Hilda - _that was her name!_ \- turned a glare at him.

By the grace of her godmother, Byleth had prepared for just such an excuse. “While I would prefer to imagine that we all might improve ourselves for goodness’ sake, I’m not what you’d call an idealist. Idealists dream. Realists know better. A realist like me knows some might need an extra...nudge over the ledge. An incentive.”

That brought their bodies lurching ever closer into her own. Her spell had been woven, and each student had succumbed to its allure. Even as the only one still leaned back in a casual grace, Claude’s eyes glistened with interest.

The enchantment shattered as soon as the waiters burst forth from the kitchen with food in hand. Tony’s cry of “mangia, everybody!” cut through the incantation and Byleth’s students were lost to the bewitching aroma of their meal.

_Perfect timing_, she thought. “What that incentive might be can wait. For now? Eat, drink, be merry - and be ready to reconvene in fifteen minutes!”

The students required no further permission. Before anyone could prevent their stampede, each one raced towards the buffet like animals to a watering hole. Dishes vanished from waiter’s trays before they could even finish setting it down.

This is the moment Byleth had awaited.

Personal observation could provide the firsthand account as to these students’ preferences, personalities and problems that a personnel file lacked. Information could never outdo examination - or experimentation.

Byleth never kept her attention on one person for too long, lest she miss a vital action elsewhere. Yet each choice these children made showed a glimpse into what their future would hold: Mercedes making sure to serve others before even taking a plate for herself, Ingrid nagging Felix for his aversion to sweets despite her overabundance of meats, Ashe snagging an extra loaf of bread when he assumed no one saw him. Each choice acted as a puzzle piece in the larger picture of their lives. Yet, despite Ashe’s stealthiness, even these cases were simple to see.

The extreme cases came not from the line at all, but from those who had maintained their distance from it. In fact, Linhardt hadn’t budged an inch, cuddling his dish like a porcelain pillow. Byleth wondered whether the food would run out before he awoke before she noticed Caspar balancing an extra plate of food in his hands. _What a sweet boy._

Hilda, too, stayed behind. Yet, unlike Linhardt, she remained wide awake, eyes fixated on her phone. For selfies, no doubt, were her pursed lips any indication. Her lack of an appetite would have surprised Byleth had she not seen Hilda stop to blow a kiss at someone in line, likely for her. Byleth caught sight of a third plate now balanced atop Caspar’s head. _A sweet, stupid boy._

The only one she could not account for was… “Claude.”

It came out more as a statement than a question. Yet still it received an answer. “You rang?” Claude materialized at her side, just out of her peripheral vision. His choice to hide his presence whilst still opting to approach as opposed to observing from a distance made her all the more wary. Yet intrigued.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Byleth eyed the ever-dwindling supply of food on the table, and the ever-increasing panic of those that provided it. “Wait too long and Raphael will have polished the whole kitchen clean.”

Claude clicked his tongue. “Ah, Teach. Don’t you know better? If you strike first, you’re only going to get whalloped between the crowds.” As if on cue, Lysithea stumbled backwards, a cannoli falling square on her head. Her offender nowhere in sight, she marched back to her seat in miserable surrender. “See what I mean?”

“So you prefer to play it safe?”

“I prefer to play it smart,” Claude corrected. “Besides, isn’t that what you’re doing?”

Byleth knew better than to take the bait - especially with one as experienced with lure as Claude. However, should she play her cards right, he could procure what she needed from him, too. _A bait and switch_. “You can learn a lot about people by the way they behave around food. Especially when amongst company.”

“All too true, Teach.” Claude viewed them all with a look halfway between disgust and delight, the same as one might be unable to turn away from a car crash...if the cars were driven by clowns. “So, what have you gleaned of our motley crew thus far?”

Where even to begin? “Let’s see...thus far, Ferdinand and Lorenz spent so long insisting the other go ahead of them that they both lost their chance to snag an iced tea before Dorothea took the last one. She seemed all too proud of that, if you ask me. I thought Dedue might go Gordon Ramsay on the chefs, while Petra’s mistranslation of ‘meatballs’ had Bernadette scribbling away in a notepad I never want to read. And I’m pretty sure Anna already has an interhouse trading system set up for unwanted leftovers.” Byleth sighed. “All in all? I have my work cut out for me.”

“True,” Claude admitted, “but you’ll learn to love them...eventually. They’ll do the same soon enough. Heck, with you around? They oughta be whipped into shape in no time!’

“And you?”

Either Claude had not prepared for that inquiry, or he did not want to accept it. “Who, me?”

“No, the other you.” Byleth stared at him, expression as flat as she could manage. “You’ve been standing here observing me while I did the same to them. Shouldn’t that merit a little suspicion?”

“Don’t you worry about me, Teach - I’m not here to cause any trouble for you.”

“No, but you are here to catch a glimpse of the student records in my purse.”

Claude’s skin blanched until it rivaled Lysithea’s hair. “Wow, you really do have a sharp eye.” His laugh was about as weak as his alibi. “Alright, I know when I’ve been bested. Better to get some grub and bow out gracefully. For now.” Claude did, in fact, bow - all theatrics and sweeping gestures - before fleeing to the buffet.

When everyone had claimed their share of the food and settled into a silence only eating could bring about, Byleth resumed her position atop the fountain. “Now that your stomachs are as full as your mouths, let’s continue. Before we circle back to our incentive, I have some news: forget your previously assigned positions. As of tomorrow morning, each of you will report to me for your new duties. Should anyone harass you, send them to me. Immediately.”

The revelation elicited a hushed gasp throughout the group. Some, like Marianne, looked about in anxious uncertainty. Others, like Dorothea, turned to their phones to relay the day’s events to whatever social media site could sate them. Byleth prayed Dorothea forgot to stream, for she could only imagine what her evening would hold were word to reach Seteth before she could. She had, after all, neglected to include this little detail in her preapproved lesson plans.

“But a fresh assignment would do little to motivate you. In the corporate world, one would find few sources of inspiration more effective than competition. That is why you, the three houses, will be vying against one another throughout the coming year!

“Each house will function as a single, cohesive unit. Every individual will have their personal score, only for the personal scores of each house to be tallied together at year’s end. Meaning that you rise and fall as a team. You’ll only ever be as successful as your weakest link - and you’d best hope your house’s weakest still outdoes the others’.

“You will be graded on the following subjects: academic merit, occupational excellence, communal engagement, and personal growth. Whichever house amounts the most points by the end of the year is promised positions in a specialized team that will decide the structure, function and creation of Disney’s next resort location.”

The room’s past fascination had died down into what Byleth could only hope was awed silence. She had dangled the prize before them, holding it just out of reach. Now was the time to let it fly and see who claimed it.

“Which one of your houses will triumph?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Edelgard mounted the tabletop. With one hand at her hip ad the other raised towards the heavens in an indignant fist, she seemed all the more a statuette of an ancient goddess. “The Black Eagles will claim the victory and its prize!”

Her classmates erupted into a thunderous applause. Caspar slammed his hands on the table like a man gone wild, Petra joining in with a bird call straight out of the Jungle Book. Dorothea’s operatic refrain of “all hail Edelgard” roused their spirits - and Linhardt from his slumber. In silent unison, Jeritza and Hubert both grabbed one leg and hoisted Edelgard into the air. Edelgard basked in the glory of her housemates’ support.

Not to be outdone, Dimitri stepped atop the opposing table, Dedue following hot on his heels. “Blue Lions,” he cried out, “can we win this?”. The Lions lifted a simultaneous shout - “YES!” - as they pounded on the seats and plates in perfect synchronization. At Dimitri’s command, Dedue stepped forward to release a roar buried deep within him. Sylvain, energized by the outcry, hoisted Felix up onto his shoulders. A giggling Mercedes soon followed suit with Annette atop her. Ashe danced about with Ingrid on their seats before Dedue hoisted him, unexpectedly, into the air.

To close his statement, Dimitri pointed his attention to - and his finger at - Edelgard. “Beat every last one of them!”

It all came down to Claude. The others’ ferocity could not hold a candle the eloquent charisma that flowed so effortlessly from this world-class socialite. So it was, with a slow and methodic applause, that Claude balanced his feet between a half-leaning chair and the edge of the table. “Well, well. You two really put on a show, didn’t ya? But there’s no need to grandstand: not when the Golden Deer are taking home the gold!”

Claude lifted his hands to his head, each in the shape of an antler, and his classmates went buckwild. Before either could blink, Raphael had lifted both Lystheia and Ignatz onto his biceps. Though they clung on for dear life, it stopped none of them from lifting their cheers. Hilda had the whole thing Snapchatted to half of Florida. The moment her camera fell on Marianne, she gave what Byleth could only assume was supposed to be a smile. Now she knew why Marianne only frowned. Meanwhile, Leonie had pulled Lorenz up atop the chair with her. Like a puppetmaster, she raised his arms in a rallying cry he swore was unbefitting of someone like him.

This wasn't a home. Not yet. But for a moment, it all felt too familiar to be foreign, too heartwarming to be hated. She could not neglect the thought that this could become comfortable for her. Safe, even. But it was not safe yet. Not for them, and not for her.

_But it could be,_ Sothis whispered. _If you wish it._

Byleth dared to trust her.

It was then, standing in the midst of these adrenaline-ridden, victory-driven teenagers, that Byleth first believed she could do this. No, _they_ could do this. She would stop KOSTAS, protect these children, and secure her father’s future here. And these kids? Well, if they weren’t meant to change the world, they would at least transform Disney. 

_For better or for worse, I wonder..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I am That Italian™ who ranks Tony's on a similar level to Olive Garden. That said, I could dine there for the atmosphere alone any day of the week. You've got a parade outside, Bella Notte on the sound system, and a plate of pasta in front of me? I'll take it. Thus it's inclusion here!
> 
> Did anyone appreciate the cameo of Oliver from the Tellius saga? If y'all have any favorites you'd like me to include, I would love to hear your suggestions! I'd prefer to keep the cameos coming. Hopefully, they'll be less offensive than this one. Sorry Oliver, but you're a mess in and out of canon!

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you wondering: yes, everything Catherine and Shamir are wearing actually exist. No, I will not tell you why I know that. And would you look at that - there really is a Remire in our world! Remire-Montjoly isn't exactly like Remire Village, but close enough.
> 
> Now that we're done with the plot introduction: onto meeting our favorite kiddos and ensuring they have the whackiest time doing jobs they're definitely not qualified for! If you have any suggestions on who should do what, please be sure to let me know in the comments :)


End file.
